


Strange Familiarities

by seori



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seori/pseuds/seori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew returns to Downton, intending to discuss his wartime intentions with his mother. He finds Mary instead. Set a while after the last episode of the first season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Familiarities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Treanz (Katty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katty/gifts).



Returning to Downton was like finding himself in a half-remembered dream. Pieces of it were so familiar, and yet other things, like allowing Molesley to remove his coat when he entered the cottage, felt foreign.

"Mrs Crawley must still be at the hospital, sir," Molesley answered, on Matthew's enquiry. "Would you like some tea whilst you wait, or will you be going straight to Downton?"

Matthew had been about to refuse the offer of tea, having grown accustomed once more to making use of his own two hands. He wasn't sure he was ready to have his physical capabilities usurped in the name of social hierarchies again, no matter how long it was for. The mention of Downton threw him off balance, however, even though it was constantly on the periphery of his awareness, no matter how he tried to ignore it. Being so close to it was different, a different kind of distraction. "No. I have no plans to visit the house."

"What a pity," a voice said archly. "We have been wasting away for want of news of Manchester, and you will deprive us of it further."

The strange-familiar feeling occupying the place he had loved so well for two years extended to what should be its rightful heiress, somebody he felt embodied Downton - an aristocratic face, with a tender heart beneath. He still wasn't ready to see Mary, not when he couldn't be sure that the aristocratic parts of her wouldn't reign victorious over the rest.

"Cousin Mary," Matthew said flatly. "You're looking well." It was hard for him to ascertain this, of course, since his eyes were fixed on the plates on the wall behind her. Had they changed since he had last been here? He thought it unlikely that his mother would waste money on renewing decorative plates, though perhaps she had been overruled. "I'm afraid I won't be entreated on to change my mind, though please pass on my regards to your mother."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. "You are mistaken, Cousin Matthew, it is Cousin Isobel I have come to see. Molesley, would you tell Mrs Crawley I have arrived?"

At Molesley's cautious glance his way, Matthew began to feel the first prickles of trepidation in his stomach. "Mother is still at the hospital, Cousin Mary."

"She asked if you would mind waiting for her, my lady," Molesley put in helpfully.

Mary's amused eyes passed over Matthew. Of course she wouldn't be affected as he was. "Certainly, I will. Might I have some tea, Molesley?"

There was no escape, not without being abominably rude. Matthew sat with Mary, as his mother had intended him to, and allowed more tendrils of his old life to creep around him. This was why it was important not to sink back into former habits, because it would be so easy to return to the way things had been - waiting eternally on Mary's latest whims. He served a higher purpose these days.

"Listen, Ma- Cousin Mary. Perhaps your tête-à-tête with my mother might wait until another day. I - I don't intend to-"

"You're enlisting." Mary's voice had never sounded like that to his ears; small and far-away, somehow. It picked up strength as she continued, resonating pleasantly once more. "Cousin Isobel said you would. I confess I - well, I thought your duties as an heir might keep you from the war."

He was surprised to hear that his mother had pre-empted him on the enlisting front, and even more surprised to hear she had shared her views with Mary. He supposed he hadn't really left her anybody else with whom she might share her views. Molesley was not a great talker, more mindful of social position than Matthew had ever been, and Mrs Bird spoke only of kitchen matters. "I don't fulfil many of my duties as heir," he reminded her gently.

"Being alive is the important one, though, I believe," she said dryly, taking her cup from Molesley with an appreciative smile.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he responded, and he knew the comment was unfair, even as her eyes shot up to meet his.

Mary was too well-bred to let the shock filter through to her face. She sipped her tea, averting her gaze from his, but he fancied he knew her well enough that silence itself told him he had struck a blow. "Because I am a woman, and cannot serve my country, or because I am Mary, and you think I would not want to?" she asked, in her languid way that led him to suspect she was merely toying with him. It was fortunate he knew she would not expect an answer; he could not begin to pick apart his thoughts enough to decide on which side he would fall. "Go, if you must. When you are fighting on the continent, I will keep your mother company. We women must bear the deprivation of you somehow."

Matthew blinked at her. Sometimes he felt Mary might never stop surprising him - and almost equally often, he thought he might never want her to stop. "You've been here, haven't you? Here, with my mother."

She shrugged at him. "To whom did you expect her to speak? Her patients? _Granny_?"

In fact, he hadn't considered the matter at all, as he supposed Mary was well aware. Guilt flooded him, along with his desire to know the whys of the matter; had she done it for him? For his mother? Out of boredom? There was no telling with Mary.

"May I write to you, when I am - overseas?" he blurted out, startling himself as much as her. Things had a habit of falling out of his mouth when she was around. At least it wasn't a proposal this time.

Mary leaned back in her chair, surveying him. If he were honest with himself, he had thought about this moment too much in the intervening months between now and the last time he'd been at Downton. He had moved her to tears that time, but if his going to war prompted any such emotions, she was keeping them well hidden. "You may," she said finally. "I will even respond, if you will promise-"

"Not to pay attention to the things you say," he finished, smiling bitterly. "Mary, how can I help _that_? I always paid attention to you."

"And look where it got us," she retorted, and Matthew found his chest tightening, because they were so close to discussing it. "Although I suppose in the end, you paid the most attention to the things I _didn't_ say."

He glanced down at his hands, spreading his fingers wide, unable to hold her gaze any longer. "Mary, I-"

"I think I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough," she said, rising to her feet. "I mustn't impose myself on your visit with your mother. Do tell her I dropped by."

Matthew stood, feeling awkward once more. "Certainly, Cousin Mary."

They were at the door - he hadn't even thought to call for Molesley, and she hadn't requested it - all too suddenly.

"I suppose I ought to wish you good luck, then," Mary said softly, one hand resting on the door handle. "From Mother and Father as well, and Sybil."

"Not Cousin Edith?" Matthew asked, aware of Molesley fading into the background. For once, he was comforted by the tact of the other man; the acknowledgement that this was a private moment. The confirmation that it was indeed happening.

A cynical smile twisted her lips, and there was some great wrong here between the sisters that he was unable to discern. "Who am I to speak for Edith?"

"I will write to you, when I am-"

"Overseas," she finished, revealing her real smile, the one he would remember across the miles. "I will write back. And I will keep your mother company, until you come back to us."

"Thank you."

"Well, I wouldn't want her to resort to Granny," Mary said mischievously. "There probably wouldn't be much of Downton left for you after that."

Impulsively - did he act any other way, when it came to Mary? - he covered her hand on the door handle. Longing crossed her face, he was sure of it, and she glanced up at him. "Don't forget us, when you are off playing hero," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I couldn't if I tried. Believe me."

She nodded, looking as though she had more to say, as though she _wanted_ to say more. But, she was Mary still, and the fear of saying too much that actually mattered still held her back. She pulled the door open, and was gone into the weak afternoon sun.


End file.
